


J1091400

by Yersina



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Gen, M/M, android!jisung, i genuinely have no idea how to tag this, i think 'universe study' might be the best way to describe it, programmer!minho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersina/pseuds/Yersina
Summary: Minho disconnects the cord linking his computer to the android lying peacefully on the table next to his desk and takes a moment just tolook. The android itself is quite pretty—Hyunjin had given him a wink when dropping it off, much to Minho’s annoyance—but then again, most androids are. But it’s not the physical appearance that makes Minho’s breath catch when he looks over its innocently sleeping features, it’s thepotential. This mass of carefully forged metal and delicately placed wires isMinho’sin a way that none of the other robots that Minho has worked with have ever been, his to create and teach and raise.Oh, if only his younger self could see him here now.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was partially inspired by [carnival hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999508) by an-chan (highly recommend if you'd like a quick read of android boys in love)! i took it in a really different direction tho and this kind of ended up being more of a... self-indulgent exploration of artificial intelligence? i have a tiny bit of coding experience and i have some background in cog psych and neural networks, but consider this your forewarning that i have no idea what i'm talking about lol. also, it has been a looooong time since i've read i, robot so pls forgive me if i've gotten any of the asimov references incorrect!
> 
> second chapter is jisung's pov!

Minho watches the download bar slowly inch across his screen, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk. If it wasn’t for the fact that the green progress bar pulses gently every few seconds, he would be convinced that his computer had been frozen at _98% complete_ for the past half hour.

He groans and slumps over onto his desk, grabbing a shard of a potato chip from the broken pieces at the bottom of the bag and popping it in his mouth, chewing sullenly. It dissolves unpleasantly on his tongue and he’s reminded that he hasn’t had anything substantial to eat in—he checks the clock and hisses at the _1:04AM_ displayed there—over 24 hours. He can just hear Chan chiding _You have to eat!_ in his mind, and he snorts at mental Chan because what a hypocrite. 

Sighing in frustration, he casts one more glance at the bar still stuck at 98% before making the executive decision to put his body out of its misery and eat some leftovers. The break room on the other side of the R&D floor seems too far away, but just the thought of food is enough to make his stomach rumble, so he heaves himself up out of his chair, groaning at the way his joints crack with disuse, and begins his trek over there.

One bowl of hastily reheated noodles and a trip to the bathroom later, Minho is feeling much more alert as he skulks back to his designated office in the dead of the night. The R&D department isn’t the most friendly place to be stuck after hours, with long, stretched shadows of technology and equipment painting the floor of the hallway through glass walls, but he feels a sense of peace among the glass and metal, the quiet hum of running electricity a calming background noise. He’s been caught here after closing enough times over the years to feel at home among the half-built robots and experiments put on pause, sometimes even more so than among his fellow scientists and engineers.

When he makes it back to his office, he spots the glowing _Complete!_ screen through the glass walls and scrambles to get his company card out of his pocket, cursing when he nearly drops it in his haste. The two second wait as the door slides open is nearly excruciating and he hits his shoulder in the doorway when he darts through before it’s completely open.

Rubbing his shoulder, he settles back into his seat at his desk. He hesitates before closing the download screen, rush forgotten as he realizes that this is _it,_ this is what he’s been working on nonstop for the past year—his whole _life._ It feels so stupid—his project isn’t nearly as noble as the healthcare bots that Felix makes down the hall or as useful as the cleaning programs that Seungmin develops, but it’s _his._ This is the culmination of all of the work that he’s done since leaving school, his contribution to the field of androids and artificial intelligence. 

He disconnects the cord linking his computer to the android lying peacefully on the table next to his desk and takes a moment just to look. The android itself is quite pretty—Hyunjin had given him a wink when dropping it off, much to Minho’s annoyance—but then again, most androids are. But it’s not the physical appearance that makes Minho’s breath catch when he looks over its innocently sleeping features, it’s the _potential._ This mass of carefully forged metal and delicately placed wires is _Minho’s_ in a way that none of the other robots that Minho has worked with have ever been, his to create and teach and raise. 

Oh, if only his younger self could see him here now.

He reaches over to press the hard reset button hidden cleverly in the android’s earring, watching it blink white—once, twice, three times—before settling into a bright blue that dims to match the ambient brightness. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, pulse thrumming in his throat, and he’s almost tempted to press two fingers to his neck and see how fast it’s beating, but his attention is ripped away from himself when the android shifts on the table, scrubbing a hand over its face in a gesture that takes Minho’s breath away with how _human_ it is before blinking its eyes open and turning to look at Minho.

“Hi,” it says, eyes crinkling with a smile, and Minho can’t help but grin because _he did that._ That’s his lines of code causing its mouth to pull up at the corner, his programming that prompts the android to smile wider in response to Minho’s own positive response.

“Hello,” he says back.

The android fluidly moves into a sitting position before responding, looking curiously down at the metal examination table beneath its fingers. “I take it I’m not quite a consumer model?” it asks, tilting its head curiously at Minho. Minho knows it doesn’t really need to ask, knows that the built-in GPS and extra prototype package that Minho made sure to provide should tell it all that it needs to know, but that’s his own doing too. People like to ask for confirmation, and so his android will too.

“Nope,” he answers, drawing out the vowels. “The very first of your kind. Welcome to humanity,” he says, spreading his arms wide and knowing that there’s absolutely no one else on this floor right now save for sleeping machinery and glass walls.

“If you’re all that’s left of humanity, then I worry for your future,” the android replies and Minho barks a startled laugh before he can stop himself, his surprised delight overtaking his more typical reaction of threatening violence. “Staying up until midnight and sleeping at work? For shame.” 

Minho knows that his face must be doing a complicated series of acrobatics at the jest, but he can’t help it. He’d programmed the software to be most responsive to whoever the owner of the android would be in order to bolster that relationship, which included matching humor styles, but he hadn’t realized that it’d show itself so early or with so little information. It’s a little scary, in a way, but he hesitantly gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back. “Hey, you don’t know that I was planning to sleep here,” is what he decides to protest, even if it was true.

The android turns its head and gives a pointed look to the cot set up in the corner, and Minho grimaces in acquiescence. “Don’t lie to me, hyung.” The android frowns at him, a little too harsh to be a pout, and Minho cocks his head to the side, wondering what that expression would look like in an android that didn’t have this one’s round face and large eyes. It catches his look and schools its features into a softer imitation of what was just on its face, pushing its bottom lip out just the slightest bit more and widening its eyes. “Better?” 

Minho leans back a bit and hums agreeably, wondering for a second if he’s fallen in over his head. This android has never seen itself in a mirror, of course, and has no preference for what it might look like, but it managed to pick up on some sort of cue from Minho and corrected itself. It’s the same type of learning that Minho had put in for communication, but more visible, and it sends the same type of pleased confusion shivering up his spine. “‘Hyung’?” he chooses to target instead. 

“Oh, sorry.” The android shifts out of its pout and instead into a more embarrassed expression, bringing a hand up to rub against its neck. “Should I have been more polite?”

It’s kind of strange to know that the calculations that Minho did to determine honorifics are working against him right now. If the android is questioning its actions, does that mean Minho is questioning himself? “No, ‘hyung’ is fine,” he says, scribbling a note to himself. Even if he finds it fine, some other person might find it off-putting, though the android probably would’ve targeted them with something politer from the beginning… It all makes his head spin. “Just for me, though, other people might not be so understanding,” he adds absentmindedly. 

“Sounds good, hyung.” Minho looks up at the android just in time to catch a grin, showing off white (but not _too_ white—Minho has endured too many rants from Hyunjin to not know how hard it is to choose the right teeth color of all things) teeth. “Now that I know what to call you, what are you going to call me?”

Minho bites back the automatic flirty response because this is also programmed and the android should know exactly what it’s doing. The android is set up to obtain a name for itself in the first conversation and it has apparently determined that this is the best point in the conversation to segue to that. “What do you want to be called?” he asks, pushing cautiously at his program. If all goes well…

“What’s my function?” the android responds without missing a beat and Minho smiles. 

“Like I said, you’re the first of your kind,” he explains. “The overall function of your line will likely be for caretaking, but the general category is companionship.” 

The android pauses as if it’s thinking the decision over, even though Minho knows that it should’ve already come to a conclusion as soon as it had all the necessary information. Most androids and robots don’t have names and generally respond to their model or serial number, but the ones that come into regular contact with humans and interact with them do. “Would you like me to choose a name at random, or would you like to come up with one for me?” 

“You can choose one for yourself,” he suggests curiously. This should prompt the android to search across the internet and compile a short database of the most common names and pick one at random. 

This feature is one that Minho came up with himself in an attempt to give his androids a little more autonomy. He can’t imbue them with the same thoughtfulness and care that humans take when choosing names for themselves, since human preferences are the product of a whole lifetime of experiences and decisions and choices, but for a newly born technological being, this is the best that he could think to do.

“How about Kyungsoo?” the android asks and Minho immediately makes a face. The android laughs at him, a low, pleasant chuckle, and Minho sends a quick thanks to whoever first invented android emotes. “Someone you know?”

“Knew one in college—knew several in college,” he corrects. The one that he’s thinking of had lived in his dorm. They had met several times in the bathroom, Minho stumbling in after an all-nighter and Kyungsoo an early waker, and Minho had been convinced the entire time that he was being judged even though Sehun assured him that it was just a resting bitch face. 

The android is silent for longer this time, probably taking Minho’s preferences into account now and discarding entries that he’s likely to have come across during his daily life. Minho knows that this is programming again, a correspondingly long wait time for a decision that takes greater processing power, but it provokes the same irritation it does when Seungmin makes a show of debating whether or not to let him have the last piece of fried chicken. It’s confusing, knowing that the android is acting as human as it’s supposed to and being pleased because of it, yet having a knee-jerk annoyed response. 

Finally, the android smiles at him, the same one that it’d produced when it had woken up for the first time, eyes crinkling at the edges and showing off part of its gummy smile. Minho is once again reminded that androids were built to be beautiful and tells himself to tease Hyunjin about it the next time he sees it instead of paying attention to the way his heart stutters in response. “How about Jisung?”

 _Jisung._ It sounds awkward in his mouth, the way that all new names do when they’re first tried out, and Minho likes it all the more for that awkwardness. It feels human, in a way, and that’s what he’s going for here, isn’t it? “As long as you like it,” he offers. 

“I do,” Jisung says happily, even though Minho knows it’s not true because he—not _it,_ because Minho can’t think of the android as an object anymore, now that he has a name and something approaching an identity—can’t _like_ anything, in the strictest sense of the word. He likely picked up on Minho’s lack of objection and used that implicit approval for his own response. “Do I get a last name too?”

Minho thinks about denying him because technically, Jisung doesn’t really need one. Most androids who do usually end up taking the last name of their owner, but truth be told, he’s had one brewing in the back of his mind since the download started earlier that night. “Han Jisung,” he says. “Hannie. Because you’re my first.” 

“Han Jisung,” the android repeats, like he’s testing it out. Minho wonders what’s happening inside Jisung’s CPU, what information is being rearranged and added as he redesignates himself. 

Minho sticks out a hand and marvels when Jisung takes it, because just five years ago, an android wouldn’t have been able to recognize a handshake. “Hello, Han Jisung, my name is Lee Minho.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jisung says, his tone oddly formal. Minho wonders if that’s because it’s a programmed response or because he’s assigned more gravity to the situation than necessary, but Jisung smiles in the next moment and Minho figures it’s the former. “As your caretaker, I think you should be getting to bed now, Minho-ssi.”

“Hey,” Minho protests, fighting off a grin. “You’re the prototype and test run, you’re not technically my caretaker. I’ll sleep whenever I want to, thank you very much.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have to be your caretaker to know that your sleeping habits are unhealthy and that you should change them. Now shoo,” he says, hopping off of the table and dragging Minho out of his chair, pushing him towards the cot in the corner of the room.

“It’s not even that late,” he protests as he’s forced to march against his will. 

“My clock tells me that it’s nearly two in the morning, Minho-ssi,” Jisung says, unimpressed. “And it’s a weekday, so you don’t get the excuse of it being the weekend either.” 

Minho winces. Two in the morning is pretty late, even for him, and he _does_ have work in the morning. He stumbles when Jisung pushes him onto the cot unceremoniously, glaring playfully up at the android. “Don’t be rude, Jisung.”

“Don’t be rude,” Jisung echoes in a childish taunt. 

Minho gapes at him. “You brat!” he yells, too loud for the quiet room, but it still doesn’t do enough to express the absolute mirth that’s bubbling up in his chest. That’s _his_ humor that Jisung’s picking up, even before he’s had time to settle and sit through the vast store of information out there in the world, and it makes Minho more than a little bit proud. 

“It’s really you that’s the brat,” Jisung says like he knows exactly what Minho’s thinking, and Minho knows that Jisung’s meant to be a prototype and more self-aware than usual androids to make it easier to debug, but he still finds it amazing, though perhaps on the edge of unsettling. 

“You’re amazing,” he says out loud with genuine admiration and watches as the pigment in Jisung’s cheeks flares red in the imitation of a blush. He did that too, both with his words and his code, but it’s somehow more satisfying than flirting with a stranger because he _knows_ Jisung. 

“Go to sleep, hyung,” he says without a pause, inhumanly unaffected, and Minho wonders if that’s because Minho forgot to code a response to this kind of banter or if Jisung’s ignoring it for Minho’s benefit, since he knows that Minho knows that it’s just a coded response, and he’s put getting Minho to sleep at a higher priority than responding properly. He’ll have to check in the morning.

Minho huffs and finally kicks off his shoes, pulls off the covers, and lies down. It probably speaks to how tired he is that even the cot feels comfortable, but he refuses to go to sleep just yet, looking up at Jisung who’s still standing by his bedside. He pauses for a moment, considering his options. Asking Jisung to standby would probably be safest, given that Minho’s going to be unconscious, but he’s impatient, and he doesn’t want to have to wait even longer in the morning to get Jisung set up properly. “Jisung, can you set up your own neural network while I’m asleep?”

“Sure,” Jisung replies easily. “With what input?”

Minho hesitates again. He can already hear Hyunjin’s teasing and Chan sighing about his priorities, but Jisung’s _his_ android, so he might as well indulge himself. “Pop culture.” It’ll help Jisung contextualize some of Minho’s responses more quickly and help him construct his own. And more than anything, he wants to see Jisung _learn._ “Prioritize visual and audio media, starting with top grossing films, and work your way out to online forums and social media, organizing by media type and then reverse-chronologically. I’ll have to be awake by eight, so restrict your information if you need to and aim to be done by then.” It’s a horrifically ambiguous prompt, especially since it involves collecting, analyzing, _and_ categorizing data, but that’s the whole point. Minho needs to see how Jisung processes information on his own, when Minho isn’t there to tell him what to prefer. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jisung replies and Minho frowns. That’s the type of response Jisung is supposed to give when his expected output is computed to have a less than 75% satisfaction rate, but Minho doesn’t know why that is. “Now _go to sleep.”_

“Pushy, pushy,” Minho mutters and settles into his makeshift bed, pulling the thin blanket over himself and watching through slitted eyes as Jisung moves away from the cot and back to the table that he had been lying on before. “You can sit at my desk if you want,” he calls when Jisung goes to hoist himself up. Minho knows that Jisung still doesn’t strictly have any wants of his own and won’t get sore the way a human would, sitting or lying on a table for hours on end, but it rubs him the wrong way to treat an android differently from a human just because they don’t experience the same discomfort. 

Jisung changes course and sits in Minho’s desk chair, spinning it around once with a small ‘whee’ that makes Minho grin. He’s not sure where that particular response came from, but it’s—cute. 

Both of them quickly settle down, Jisung leaning back in the chair and staring at the ceiling as he starts to process the information that Minho told him to and Minho gradually slipping further and further into unconsciousness. The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is the gentle blue glow of Jisung’s LED earring through the darkness. 

* * *

Minho wakes to a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. “Hyung, you said you need to wake up now.” His body is utterly exhausted, the product of entirely too many sleepless nights working on Jisung’s code.

“Gimme five more minutes,” he mutters into his pillow, already on his way back to unconsciousness. He swats blindly in front of him when his shoulder is shaken again. “I told you to give me five minutes.”

“It has been five minutes,” comes Jisung’s amused voice. 

Minho cracks his eyes open to see sunlight filtering in through the blinds behind his desk, illuminating the grin on Jisung’s face. He smiles back automatically before blinking at the way Minho’s answering smile causes Jisung’s face to soften into something more… Minho struggles to pin it down. Affectionate, maybe?

 _Well that’s new._ He promptly decides that eight in the morning is too early to think about self-learning androids and that he’ll deal with Jisung’s newfound knowledge after he has a cup or three of coffee in him. “Be right back.”

He troops downstairs to the company gym to find the accompanying showers, already used to this routine. The warm water helps to wake him up, as does the cup of coffee from the cafeteria. A piece of bread and some jam later, and he’s feeling something approaching human. He snags another piece of toast for the road as he makes his way back upstairs, and he’s shoving the last piece of it in his mouth when he sees Jisung through the wall of his office.

Jisung is back to sitting on his table, looking down at his hands and fiddling with the Rubik’s cube Seungmin had gifted him as a joke one year. It’s an idle action designed to disguise fine motor calibration, one that some other engineer came up with years ago, though Minho notes with annoyance that Jisung has already solved it even though Minho has had that thing for a year and still couldn’t figure it out. 

He swipes his hands on his pants roughly to rid them of crumbs and swipes back into his room, waving generally in Jisung’s direction as he collapses into his desk chair with a groan. “I hate mornings,” he complains to the ceiling. “Why do they exist? Also, why are you so good at Rubik’s cubes?” He rounds on Jisung, wrinkling his nose when Jisung laughs.

“It takes a fraction of a second for me to plot the possible solutions to this thing,” Jisung says, offering Minho the cube. Minho takes it with an air of disdain and places it back on his desk. “It literally takes me longer to hold it up, figure out the configuration of the colors, and twist them into place than it does for me to actually solve it.”

As if Minho didn’t know that already. “Let me have my petty mortal complaints,” he huffs, glaring at Jisung. “We can’t all be brilliant pieces of machinery.”

The tips of Jisung’s ears turn red, which reminds Minho to look at the data logs from last night. He’d programmed Jisung’s software to be agreeable, not… whatever it is now. “Need to do a checkup,” he declares, booting up his computer. “Direct interface or manual connection?”

“Manual, please.” Jisung watches curiously as Minho crawls beneath his desk to dig around in his miscellaneous wires box and comes back with a connection cable raised triumphantly in the air. “If I’d known that you were this disorganized, I would’ve just saved you the trouble,” he quips as he presents his arm to Minho without asking. 

“Should probably reorganize,” Minho agrees. He swipes his thumb over the synthetic flesh of Jisung’s inner elbow with a gentle push, watching as the skin shifts back and reveals a series of ports. He plugs in one half of the connection wire, thinking wryly of how the location of android ports were modeled after IV lines, and connects the other end to his computer. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jisung starts the upload, swinging his feet as he waits for the computer to keep up with his vastly superior processing capabilities. Minho eyes the movement, trying to remember if that was included in the catalog of idle movements or if it’s new too, but decides that it probably doesn’t even make it onto his list of things to check on. If Jisung wants to swing his feet, who’s Minho to stop him? 

He sticks the note about reviewing the politeness code again on the side of his computer next to his collection of other colorful sticky notes reminding him to do things. _Remember to get Mom a birthday gift!!_ one reads. Maybe he’ll go shopping later this week.

“Done,” Jisung pipes up a split second before Minho’s computer chimes. “I added it to the folder dedicated to me.” 

“Thanks.” Minho disconnects Jisung from the computer, winding the connection cord back up into a messy spool and tucking it back into the box underneath his desk. “Now let’s see…”

He spends the next hour scanning lines of data until his vision starts to blur, trying to piece together the information into a cohesive picture that Minho can understand. Starting from the data logs time stamped to the previous night, Minho tracks the way Jisung organizes and prioritizes his data. It becomes more interesting once he reaches the time when he assumes he fell asleep and Jisung started running his neural network. Jisung started with movies, like Minho asked him too, but as the night progressed, his data collection got more complex.

About forty minutes in, he remembers to be concerned about giving Jisung something to do, but then reminds himself that Jisung is programmed to optimize his time. “Hey, what are you doing right now?” His vision swims when he looks up, and he blinks away his double vision so he can look at Jisung without being distracted by copies of him. 

“An expansion on last night’s neural network.” Jisung gives him a thumbs up coupled with raised eyebrows. Minho snorts at the expression and laughs softly when Jisung grins. 

“Carry on, then.” 

Minho is just disentangling Jisung’s store of things that he flagged as emotions when the whirring of his door opening distracts him.

“Oh, hello there.” Chan’s voice pulls Minho from his work and he swivels his chair around so he can give his boss a sloppy salute, even though his attention is clearly on Jisung. “I assume you’re the J1091400 prototype?” It would surprise Minho that Chan remembers Jisung’s model number, but this is Chan, and Chan always manages to remember everything.

“Hi! I’m Han Jisung,” Jisung announces brightly, sticking out his hand. 

“Bang Chan.” Chan reaches out slowly and shakes Jisung’s hand before giving Minho a meaningful look. “You gave it a name?”

Minho shrugs. “Why not?”

“You’re going to get attached.” Chan gives Jisung a gentle pat on the shoulder before moving closer to Minho’s desk, peering curiously at his screen. “What’s this?”

“Hey, if Felix gets to keep his abomination of a first attempt in his lab for posterity, I get to keep Jisung. Besides, he’s mine,” Minho says, winking at Jisung. Jisung runs his blushing sequence again, which Minho is starting to think is something that Jisung implemented himself, and sticks his tongue out at Minho impishly. Minho sticks out his own tongue in reply and turns back to his computer. “I’m analyzing some of the data that I had Jisung run last night.”

Chan leans closer, reading through the information, before furrowing his brow. “This is… a lot of data,” he says, which Minho takes as an invitation to explain his thought process.

“He’s so curious!” he says excitedly, scrolling down and pointing at a few lines that he’d highlighted earlier. “I started him with movies and it looks like he moved to reviews and other internet forums after that—and I think academic papers? Then, based on the patterns that he found in those, he created his own algorithm for pseudo-emotional responses to certain stimuli.” Minho pauses, processing, before whipping his head around to stare accusingly at Jisung. “Is that why you keep blushing?”

“It’s a common response to embarrassment,” Jisung says with a shrug. It’s a common response with other emotions too, he leaves unsaid, and Minho narrows his eyes. He doesn’t like not knowing where Jisung is getting his information or how complete it is, given that Jisung’s code has been his baby for nearly all of his professional career, but he supposes that he’ll have to make his peace with it. “Besides, you like it.”

Minho sputters. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that? He knows it’s _true,_ at least to Jisung, and the combination of prioritizing Minho’s responses and Jisung’s ability to read biometrics at a distance means that Jisung is doing exactly what Minho programmed him to do. He can’t exactly _complain,_ but— “I—what?”

Thankfully, Chan saves him from having to come up with a more eloquent response. “He can do that?” At Minho’s blank look, he elaborates, “He can write his own code?”

“Oh, that.” Minho leans over his desk and props his chin up on his fist, smiling at Jisung when he gives Minho a small, cute wave. It’s amazing how many new responses Jisung created after just one night of data analysis. “I figured that the ability to analyze a shit ton of information is kind of useless without the corresponding ability to do something with it, hence.” He waves with his free hand in Jisung’s general direction. 

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” He moves his gaze to Chan, meeting Chan’s visible concern with a frown. “Couldn’t he harm someone with that, or something?”

Looking at Jisung, Minho has a hard time imagining him hurting anyone, but he understands where Chan is coming from. “His ‘prime directive’” he says with air quotes and a roll of his eyes, “is essentially to act in the best way possible.” 

It sounds simple, but it had caused Minho to nearly tear his hair out on more than one occasion, first over philosophical conundrums and semantic details, then coding that in a way an android could understand. ‘Acting in the best way possible’ is ambiguous at best, even for humans, but it gives Jisung the freedom to act more freely in any given situation. Rather than giving him an increasingly narrow set of restrictions for deciding on a method of action, Minho instead gave him a list of priorities. Put simply, when given the option to act as he wants to, Jisung will first filter by actions available to him by human law, then android law, then any other restrictions that his owner may have given him, before choosing the option that has the highest likelihood of bringing about the safety and satisfaction of his owner or the people around him. In absence of his owner, Jisung will choose the option that’s most likely to ensure his continued function. It keeps Jisung from needing a specific input to make a decision while allowing him to draw from past experiences. It’s the same basic protocol that most healthcare bots and droids use, based on the principles of beneficence and maleficence, but with a few tweaks to accommodate Jisung’s greater ability to learn. _Suck on that, Asimov._

“I guess he could harm someone with it,” Minho muses. “But it would be because there’s no other option.”

“I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Jisung chimes in, looking up at Chan with wide eyes. It’s simultaneously amazing and off-putting to see how quickly Jisung learned to use human expressions, even when Minho reminds himself that he’s technically the one that did that, but at least Minho gets the amusement of seeing Chan panic at the beseeching look that Jisung gives him. 

“Right, of course,” he says quickly. He backs away slightly, just slowly enough to not give the impression of running away, and puts some distance between himself and Jisung. It’s a response that Minho sees a lot in the older generation when they’re faced with advanced technology that they’re slightly afraid of and don’t know what to do with it. He’s not sure whether he should be proud or concerned that he managed to provoke it from Chan. Chan gives Minho a pointed look once he stops. “You should introduce him to IN020801.”

Minho blinks. “Sure.”

IN020801—or I.N., as most of the R&D department calls it—is Hyunjin’s pride and joy. It’s the first prototype in their company to have enough processing power and facial components to create a convincing semblance of human facial expressions, and it’s I.N.’s base that gave rise to Jisung’s body. 

“Who’s IN020801?” Jisung asks once Chan leaves. Minho debates giving him access to the company servers so he can look for himself, but decides quickly that he prefers the humanistic element of needing to ask.

“He’s kind of… your mother, I guess,” Minho says, scrunching his nose in distaste. “Your predecessor. Your face comes from him. He’s basically Hyunjin’s claim to fame.”

Jisung tilts his head to the side. “My face?”

“Your facial movements.” Minho reaches out and pokes a finger into Jisung’s cheek, sinking through a layer of soft synthetic skin before reaching the tiny gears and pulleys that make up Jisung’s face. “Innie’s line of androids was the first to do away with a facial exoskeleton. I’m not quite sure how it works, but I think there’s a layer of fluid between your skin and your components so that they don’t interfere with each other, rather than a metal plate, so that way you’re free to make more detailed movements. You should ask Hyunjin about the details, though.” Jisung could also just search for the answer online, Minho realizes belatedly, but if it’s occurring to him, then it probably already occurred to Jisung. “You’re quite the feat of engineering, you know.”

Jisung blinks, unnaturally frozen and silent. It’s the first time that Minho has seen him at a loss for how to respond, uncertain of which protocol to follow. There’s an emote that Minho added for similar situations, but it’s possible that Jisung decided that it wasn’t appropriate. “What’s your dilemma?” he asks, grabbing another sticky note. 

“Not enough information to execute optimal response,” Jisung answers promptly. 

Minho makes a noise of understanding and scribbles down a note. Apparently his politeness code was a lot more lacking than he’d realized. “Well, usually it’s considered more polite to deny the compliment and say that you don’t really deserve it, but I think that’s stupid.” He pats Jisung’s knee and starts exiting out of his computer programs. “If it’s true, then you should own up to it. You _are_ amazing, Jisung.”

Once he finishes closing his windows, he turns back to Jisung. “Does that solve the issue?”

Jisung grins. “Got it—if anyone asks, I’m amazing and better than most other androids out there.”

Minho laughs loudly, almost giving himself a stitch in the side. God, he’s managed to give his android an ego. “Maybe not with that exact wording, but you’ve got the spirit of it.” He can’t resist ruffling Jisung’s hair before heaving himself out of his chair.

Thankfully, it’s only been a little over an hour since he sat down, so he only gets one satisfying pop when he stretches. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Jisung eyeing him and he can almost _see_ the way he’s recalibrating his understanding of Minho’s health. “Uh-uh,” Minho interrupts before Jisung says anything. “No advice allowed from the healthcare bot about my health.”

Jisung raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I wasn’t planning on saying anything. I’m a companion, not a nurse.”

Minho snorts. “Like that stopped you last night.” 

“Well, an amazing android like me should go above and beyond his main objectives, of course,” Jisung blusters and Minho wonders if it’s egotistical for him to like his own android this much.

“Of course,” he echoes before beckoning Jisung towards the door. “Come on, let’s go meet your mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was kind of a throwaway line but _please_ imagine seungmin's cleaning robots with him saying "you made a mess~"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while writing minho’s pov, i kept thinking abt what jisung’s corresponding program processes would be, and this was born

_System initializing…_

_Accessing internal storage…_

_Downloading software…_

_Accepting manual input..._

_Connecting to internet…_

_All systems functional._

_Begin accepting sensorimotor input?_

__Y_

J1091400 continues running its system startup processes in the background as its prototype initiatives execute first, creating a folder in its external memory chip and starting a data log. It catalogues time and location from its real-time clock and GPS as it finishes the system reboot, bringing up its hand to touch its face. It notes that the sensorimotor processes are running correctly and automatically records the location and pressure of the touch.

There is a heat signature and heartbeat to its right. The heat signature is well within normal ranges for a human being at 36 degrees Celsius, but the heart rate of 98 BPM is high given what J1091400 assumes (with 93% likelihood) is a sedentary position. It flags the subject as a potential (3%) cause for concern, but is unable to make any further conclusions from lack of data. 

J1091400 opens its eyes. There is not much ambient light illuminating the ceiling above him, which makes it difficult to estimate the height from its position. The source of light that illuminates what it is able to sense comes from a location above and to the right of its head, which it identifies as a standard LED. It reconstructs a desk near its current location, one that carries a desktop currently connected to the same network J1091400 is connected to and is 92% likely to belong to the human in the room, the one that J1091400 detected as having an abnormally high heart rate and whose name matches the name in J1091400’s storage.

_OWNER_DESIGNATION = “Lee Minho”_

J1091400 keeps all of this information in its memory, still unable to assign any piece importance over the others, and runs a quick analysis that tells it that it’s 78% likely to have gained all of the potentially useful information from this position.

It temporarily pauses visual input as it turns in the direction of where the desk is likely to be in order to cut down on potential actions and resumes it once it has executed 95% of the movement. Visual input confirms its broad reconstruction of the desk and placement of the heat signature.

J1091400 executes its greeting protocol, triggering its facial components to move into a smile. “Hi,” it says. The volume is modulated to match ambient noise, of which there is nearly none. Given current time and environmental indicators, as well as facial cues from the person likely (95%) to be Lee Minho, there is a high chance (99%) that Lee Minho is working overtime.

“Hello.” Lee Minho smiles, triggering an answering response from J1091400’s system. There is a brief feedback loop—its automatic response causes an exaggeration in Lee Minho’s expression as well—that J1091400 cuts off before it can become an issue.

It waits briefly for more input from Lee Minho, long enough that the likelihood of new information falls to 24%, before changing positions again. Its decision making program operates optimally with the greatest amount of information possible, but J1091400 immediately begins streamlining the process to reduce future wait time.

Now that its limbs have been rearranged to an upright position, it once again waits for input from Lee Minho that isn’t forthcoming. This is unexpected, but it recalibrates its interactional software to the lack of input, placing a greater degree of emphasis on its own response, the composition of which begins immediately. J1091400 factors in all possible avenues of conversation and chooses the one most likely to provide him with the greatest amount of additional information.

“I take it I’m not quite a consumer model?” The question is accompanied by appropriate physical cues of confusion, with the metal table it’s sitting on given the highest priority. There are several clues—the table being one and its prototype data package being another—but Lee Minho’s response will let J1091400 know what is expected of its continued function.

“Nope,” Lee Minho says. The word is distorted in what J1091400 identifies as a playful manner, with the vowels being lengthened beyond the typical phonemic boundary and fluctuating in tone. “The very first of your kind. Welcome to humanity,” Lee Minho continues, turning his chair and spreading his arms wide. The gesture indicates that J1091400 should look in that direction, but all it can sense is other technology and the flow of electricity.

Lee Minho is joking.

J1091400 has several options for a response. The simplest is to acknowledge the information and accept the welcome, but it flags this as a dispreferred response. The use of humor invites a similar response, one that should demonstrate its understanding of the current situation, while continuing the trend of what J1091400 recognizes as dry humor. “If you’re all that’s left of humanity, then I worry for your future.” Lee Minho laughs—not the projected response, but positive nonetheless. J1091400 reorganizes its categories of verbal responses and gives higher priority to humorous productions. 

Lee Minho gives no other response other than the laugh, so J1091400 abandons this line of conversation, which is 12% likely to end in a favorable outcome that remains humorous, in favor of its caretaking protocol. A quick scan of the room reveals a simple cot in the corner, blanket likely wrinkled from previous use. “Staying up until midnight and sleeping at work? For shame.”

The expression that Lee Minho shifts to is not immediately categorizable and matches several exemplar expressions in J1091400’s database of human emotes, including pride, confusion, and amusement. It designates the expression as unusable as further input and waits for new stimuli. “Hey, you don’t know that I was planning to sleep here.”

J1091400 calculates the likely veracity of the embedded statement against its projected understanding of the situation and determines it to likely be another jest. This pursuit of its caretaking protocol doesn’t produce the same type of positive feedback that its humorous response did previously, but the health of its owner is at a higher priority than establishing a positive relationship with him. It indicates the cot before continuing with the conversation, noting the displeased expression that Lee Minho produces. It’s more likely (62%) to be self-directed than displeasure towards J1091400, so it continues. “Don’t lie to me, hyung,” it says, indicating the cot. 

The more informal address is likely to establish a closer rapport. Targeting its caretaking protocol and establishing a positive relationship simultaneously is the optimal action. It couples the admonishment with its system default expression for ‘stern’. 

Lee Minho reacts unexpectedly (8%), tilting his head 15 degrees to his left with no immediate indication of chastisement. There’s no obvious reason for this deviation, but J1091400 analyzes the expression and runs a system diagnosis of its facial components concurrently against its own previous responses, prioritizing the newest stimulus of its frowning sequence. Its facial specifications differ slightly from industry standard, so perhaps… 

It does a quick internet search—as thorough as it can while allowing for time for recalibration, without causing a disruption in conversation—with its own facial measurements to search for a human frame of reference. Once it has compiled enough entries to create an average expression, it recalibrates, exaggerating the ‘upset’ component of its expression over the ‘angry’ component and sets it as its new system default. “Better?” 

The hum and accompanying facial expression remain ambiguous, but J1091400 assigns the response a positive tag and dedicates more processing power to finding the nuances in Lee Minho’s expressions in the future. “‘Hyung?’” he questions, instead of addressing J1091400’s recalibration. 

It had placed higher priority on its relationship with Lee Minho than its politeness protocol, but the question prompts reassessment. “Oh, sorry.” Apologizing for perceived transgressions is one of the highest priority responses, so it runs that program before triggering its embarrassment response. “Should I have been more polite?”

Lee Minho reaches for a stack of sticky notes before responding. “No, ‘hyung’ is fine,” he says, not looking in its direction. “Just for me, though, other people might not be so understanding.” The lack of visual stimuli isn’t optimal, but J1091400 notes the confirmation. 

“Sounds good, hyung.” J1091400 waits for Lee Minho to finish writing his note and stick it on the bezel of his computer before smiling. Lee Minho’s disregard of its healthcare protocol previously pushes it lower down on its priority list, so it returns to its establishment of their relationship. “Now that I know what to call you, what are you going to call me?”

It flags the pause that comes before Lee Minho’s response, though there’s not enough input to assign it any meaning yet. “What do you want to be called?” 

J1091400 doesn’t _want_ to be called anything, but another quick internet search allows it to understand that it is likely to be assigned a name if it comes into regular contact with humans. Although its caretaking protocol makes it likely that this will be the case, its current amount of decision-making input is lacking. “What’s my function?”

“Like I said,” Lee Minho says, leaning back in his chair. J1091400 calculates his chance of tipping over to be at 4%. “You’re the first of your kind. The overall function of your line will likely be for caretaking, but the general category is companionship.”

This answers the question of whether it needs a name, but not the one of what that name should be. The course of the conversation indicates that Lee Minho is unlikely to produce a name if not prompted. “Would you like me to choose a name at random, or would you like to come up with one for me?”

“You can choose one for yourself.” The tone of Lee Minho’s voice is high, suggesting curiosity or uncertainty. J1091400 takes this to mean that he’s uncertain of its ability to accomplish this task.

Its preferred response, the one with highest priority, is to seek more data when uncertain of an outcome. However, Lee Minho has already expressed his expectations of J1091400’s next action—it is to choose a name for itself.

It instead turns to the internet as its next source of data. It takes hardly a few milliseconds for it to find the most common given names of the current year—its processes stall, two conflicting alerts coming to its attention at once. Picking names from the current year is the simplest option and the one that executes the least logical leaps to reach. However, overall, its mission is to remain amiable with Lee Minho—which would best be done with a dataset that would be more familiar to him.

J1091400 discards its current data and instead searches for popular names of Lee Minho’s birth year, compiling a list of one hundred and picking one at random. “How about Kyungsoo?” The expression that warps Lee Minho’s face can’t be analyzed as anything other than negative, so J1091400 immediately discards that name. Several new pathways of conversation become apparent to it, all of about the same priority. It chooses the one that has the highest likelihood of promoting greater conversation. “Someone you know?”

“Knew one in college,” Lee Minho explains. J1091400 logs this for potential future reference. It waits two seconds for future input and continues with its previous processes when none is forthcoming. 

Lee Minho disprefers the names of people that he knows for J1091400’s new designation, which makes it difficult for it to determine what to pick. It doesn’t have access to Lee Minho’s memories, so instead it searches through the company network for a faculty directory. All of the names on that list coincide with J1091400’s existing list, so it instead places priority on Lee Minho’s department and chooses one at random from those not listed as being his colleagues. 

“How about Jisung?” It smiles to increase the likelihood that Lee Minho will be favorable to this name, and logs the small increase in heart rate that accompanies this stimulus. 

Lee Minho doesn’t immediately express any preference for or dislike of the name like he did ‘Kyungsoo’. “As long as you like it.” 

J1091400 benefits from his previous foresight in dedicating more processing power to analyzing Lee Minho’s vague responses. Although the input isn’t explicitly positive or negative, the lack of negative reaction itself has been shown to be a positive. “I do.” Its positive reception of the name is automatically accompanied by another smile program and a raise in pitch. 

_INTERNAL_DESIGNATION = “J1091400”_

_Edit internal designation?_

__Y_

_Enter new input: “Jisung”_

_Set internal designation?_

__Y_

_INTERNAL_DESIGNATION = “Jisung”_

_Detected human input. Activate associated packages?_

__Y_

“Do I get a last name too?” The previous internet search makes the likelihood low, but Lee Minho has not followed typical interaction protocol since Jisung first activated.

Lee Minho pauses for an atypical period of time, but not long enough to prompt a reminder from Jisung. “Han Jisung. Hannie,” he says. “Because you’re my first.” Jisung automatically analyzes the connection—Han is a homophone for the word ‘one’. He notes the preference for wordplay in his file on Lee Minho. 

_Edit internal designation?_

__Y_

_Enter new input: “Han Jisung”_

_Set internal designation?_

__Y_

Jisung repeats the name, logging the way his vocal components produce the sound. It’s a superficially unnecessary action, but it’s one that helps him seem more human. 

Lee Minho sticks out his hand, automatically triggering Jisung’s handshake response. “Hello, Han Jisung, my name is Lee Minho.” 

Jisung knows this already, so he assigns the data more importance and begins analyzing the input. The handshake is likely to represent an increase in relationship familiarity, as did the re-introduction. It’s a borderline illogical circle of information, given that handshakes are to occur at the beginnings of conversations, but it doesn’t prompt any errors in Jisung’s system. 

_Edit “Lee Minho” designation?_

__N_

_Add new designation?_

__Y_

_Enter new input: “Minho”_

_Set “Lee Minho” alternative designation?_

__Y_

He doesn’t have a set response for this situation, but Minho’s projected reaction to Jisung’s system default is within acceptable boundaries. 

“Pleased to meet you.” As soon as he says it, he creates a reminder for himself to write a new response to this situation once he has more data to draw from. Minho doesn’t react noticeably, but there’s a minute furrow of his browline that Jisung analyzes as consternation. 

He smiles in response in order to alleviate the negative expression, and logs the subsequent success. Now that his set up sequence has largely been completed, Jisung returns to his remaining caretaking protocol. “As your caretaker,” he says, indicating to Minho that he’s pursuing a different line of conversation, “I think you should be getting to bed now, Minho-ssi.”

The title is the one that’s his system default for this situation, but from Minho’s previous responses, Jisung thinks it’s likely that Minho will take this as a humorous attempt to distance himself as a result of his caretaking. It’s projected to increase Minho’s opinion of him. 

“Hey, you’re the prototype and test run,” Minho says. “I’ll sleep whenever I want to, thank you very much.” The content of the response is negative, but paired with the slight smile that Minho has, Jisung notes it as a positive response.

The success that Jisung has had with increasing their relationship bond lets him put greater priority on successfully executing his caretaking duties as well. “I don’t have to be your caretaker to know that your sleeping habits are unhealthy and that you should change them,” Jisung says as a simple statement of fact. He disregards his system default continuation and instead choses a response that’s more likely to be interpreted as humorous. “Now shoo,” he says. Physical reinforcement has a greater likelihood of achieving Jisung’s goal, so he slides off the metal table he was sitting on and ushers Minho in the direction of the cot in the corner. 

“It’s not even that late,” Minho objects on the way there. Jisung dedicates a small portion of processing power to determining whether or not this is true, but on almost all accounts, it’s blatantly false.

“My clock tells me that it’s nearly two in the morning, Minho-ssi,” Jisung says. “And it’s a weekday, so you don’t get the excuse of it being the weekend either.” Jisung finds the habit illogical—why establish a routine where two days are significantly different from the others?—but nevertheless, he stores the data. 

Minho’s features pull together in a pained expression that Jisung’s system categorizes as a wince a few milliseconds later. This is likely in response to the veracity of Jisung’s observations. He lightly pushes Minho onto the cot, smiling at the glare Minho sends him. The expression is exaggerated beyond natural reaction standards, so he takes it to be a manufactured reaction, and therefore another humorous response. “Don’t be rude, Jisung.”

Jisung’s actions are certainly within the parameters of being rude, but given the course of the conversation—ah. “Don’t be rude,” he echoes, fluctuating the tone using his teasing code. 

Minho opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He doesn’t seem to be choking, so Jisung assigns this expression to the category of ‘shocked’. “You brat!” The volume causes a brief error message from Jisung’s microphone array, but he dismisses it and sets it to accept a wider range of input. 

The contrasting dialogue and apparent intent once again align with Jisung’s previous data logs of the conversation. It’s causing a significant rewrite of Jisung’s pre-existing conversational parameters, so he instead decides to isolate his new code since being activated and dedicate it to Minho’s folder specifically. His responses have been specifically set to increase his standing with Minho—he’ll wait until he has further data to decide whether this is typical of other humans as well. “It’s really you that’s the brat,” Jisung says. It’s a response calibrated to demonstrate Jisung’s understanding of the situation, and he’s rewarded with a slight increase in the angle of Minho’s smile.

“You’re amazing.” Jisung’s system automatically runs his embarrassment response at the compliment, but the genuine praise is so far from the existing range of conversational input that Jisung decides his analysis of the correct response will take too long and cuts it off. 

“Go to sleep, hyung,” he says instead, defaulting to his caretaking protocol. Not optimal, but changes in conversation topic aren’t out of conversation parameters. 

Minho breathes out harshly, a response that Jisung sets as annoyance, and takes off his shoes. Jisung watches as he wiggles into place on the cot, pulling the covers over himself, and begins sorting his existing data to make the best decision of what to do next. “Jisung, can you set up your own neural network while I’m asleep?” Minho interrupts, and Jisung immediately begins formatting the framework for the task.

“Sure. With what input?”

“Pop culture,” Minho says after a four second pause of consideration. Jisung listens to the parameters, noting all of them down, and cuts off his automatic frown response. 

He’s capable of setting up and running his own neural networks with vast amounts of information, but the instructions that Minho has just given him make it difficult to determine what input should go into his analysis. The priorities that he’s set are helpful, but not optimal. Given Minho’s designation as Jisung’s creator, he assumes that Minho is aware of this conflict and wishes to determine what Jisung is capable of producing. He runs a brief estimation of what Minho’s expectations are of Jisung’s results, but none of the projected answers reach significance. “I’ll see what I can do.” Minho frowns at this, which tells Jisung that his response wasn’t optimal for the conversation, but he overrides the automatic editing sequence. Telling the truth and using his default response is projected to have a higher return in the future than an immediate increase in the present. “Now _go to sleep.”_

Jisung waits until Minho has settled into the bed before walking back to the table that he was lying upon when activated. “You can sit at my desk if you want,” Minho says when Jisung places his hands on the metal table. Jisung takes the offer to mean that Minho would prefer it if Jisung sat in his desk chair, so he plots a new course and sits there instead. 

The chair is the swivel kind, and when he sits, the base of the chair moves with him. It’s a challenge to coordinate his components to sit down with the right amount of force, but when he finally does so, his ‘happy’ expression is automatically triggered given his successful completion of a difficult task and he pairs it with a corresponding vocalization. There’s another brief feedback loop with Jisung’s and Minho’s smiles, but he lets this one go on for longer. 

The neural network is ready to begin, but Jisung waits for Minho’s biometrics to level out to the average human levels of sleep. It serves the dual purpose of satisfying his caretaking protocol and allowing him to dedicate all of his processes to the neural network, which is the optimal path that he could have taken. 

He automatically settles into the chair once his system calculates how long the initial neural network is expected to run. Minho’s shift begins at eight in the morning, so he creates a list of objectives for himself based on what is projected to be completed by the time Minho needs to wake up. 

Now to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was honestly a little frustrating to write, just because jisung doesn't think the way a human does? i did my best to represent the way his thinking morphed as the chapter went on by humanizing it more and more but it's just so _meticulous_. a very fun thought experiment though!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure if it was quite clear in the fic, but neural networks are being used here to analyze a large amount of existing data and extrapolate patterns, which jisung can then use as the basis for new code. it's really similar to what nn do rn actually, but smarter and faster, since jisung decides for himself whether he's learning accurately or not. if any of this seems horrifically wrong, i'm just gonna,, go ahead and excuse it as artistic license,,,
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/yersin_a) | [tumblr](https://littlenookofnonsense.tumblr.com/) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yersin_a)


End file.
